Morning came softly, as if afraid to disturb the peace. Warm light slid across the floor, the sheets, the faces of the sleepers — and the house seemed to breathe with them. Min slept sprawled across the bed, one arm clutching a plush teddy bear. The imprint of the blanket marked his cheek; his hair stuck out in all directions — a small vortex of life that made Do-yun smile the moment he saw it.
He lay nearby, sleepily listening to the steady breathing of the child and the footsteps in the other room. There, behind the door, dishes rattled quietly. The scent of coffee filled the house.
A minute later, Seungho appeared in the doorway — barefoot, mugs in hand. He was wearing a simple gray T-shirt and home pants; his hair was messy, but his gaze was calm, clear.
— You're awake, — he said quietly.
— You guessed right, — Do-yun yawned and propped himself up. — I'm just… watching.
— Watching what?
— Life, — he replied with a smile.
Seungho placed the mugs on the nightstand and sat down next to him.
— It sounds grand, but it looks quiet.
— And that's its beauty.
Min stirred, opened his eyes, and seeing his father, reached out his hands.
— Apa, coffee is hot! — he mumbled with a serious expression.
— Now I definitely know who he takes after, — Seungho chuckled.
Do-yun laughed. That laughter was light, like spring itself outside the window. They sat together on the bed: Min — between them, wrapped in a blanket; Do-yun — with a mug in his hands; Seungho — hugging them both. The wind pushed the curtain open, and the scent of fresh air and flowers drifted into the room.
— You know, — Do-yun said, looking at them, — I used to be afraid that all this would end. That the world would turn against us again.
Seungho shook his head.
— And now?
— Now I just want the morning to repeat itself. Just like this. Without loud words.
Seungho took his hand. The ring glittered in a sunbeam — thin, almost unnoticeable, but real.
— Let it repeat itself, — he said. — Every day. As long as we choose each other.
Min mumbled something, getting comfortable, and their hands joined over his tiny palm. The world outside the window hummed with life: laughter, birds, the rustle of leaves. But inside the house, it was surprisingly quiet.
Do-yun looked at Seungho and whispered:
— So this is what happiness is like.
— What is it like?
— Not loud. Just alive.
Seungho nodded, smiling.
— Then we did everything right.
He pulled Do-yun closer, and he nestled into his shoulder. Min slept, holding their fingers, as if afraid they would disappear. The house was once again filled with breathing — steady, calm, the same for all three. Through the window, the wind brought the scent of spring and the quiet rustle of branches. And in this silence, there were neither promises nor fear. Only one feeling — simple and clear, like morning after a long night.
Happiness.
They didn't chase it — they stayed in it.
END